Napoleon Solo: master spy and mother hen
by MLaw
Summary: Solo and Kuryakin find themselves snowed in at a less than desireable safe house, in hiding from THRUSH who want important information in Illya's head. Originally posted on section7mfu, live journal for the Picfic Tuesday challenge. pre-saga The prompt was a photograph of a snowplough.


There was a slight draft coming from somewhere and Napoleon pulled a small throw blanket from the back of a chair, draping it gingerly over the sleeping figure of his partner.

He stared at his friend; Illya's face looking placid, almost childlike as he slept quietly on the sofa.

It had been a rough night, with the man tossing and turning, calling out in Russian as he fitfully dreamt into the wee hours.

Solo, concerned for his partner, sat in a nearby armchair, nodding off periodically, but staying awake for the most part though the night.

They'd sequestered themselves in a small U.N.C.L.E. safe house seemingly in the middle of no where in upstate New York. Illya had a T.H.R.U.S.H. formula in his head and was now the target of their feathered adversaries who wanted the information back, badly.

They'd gotten hold of Kuryakin once and drugged him out of his mind, but still he hadn't given up the goods.

Once Solo rescued the wayward Russian, it was deemed wise for the partners to lay low in the safe house until such time a team could arrive from headquarters to bring them safely back to the city.

What should have been hours, turned into a day as bad weather had set in and there was now several feet of snow on the ground, with more coming down. The drifts were piling high against the small house. Thankfully, T.H.R.U.S.H. had no clue where the agents were, so it was a positive situation in that regard.

.

A quiet moan called Napoleon from his thoughts, as Illya rolled over to his side; his eyes slowly opening, blinking a few times as he focused his vision.

"Good morning," Solo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "How you feeling?"

"Like someone hit me with a…" His sentence remained unfinished as he sneezed loudly.

"You're not getting sick are you chum?"

"Cannot tell yet." Illya's voice was barely above a whisper. His usually silky smooth blond hair was plastered down and in need of a good wash, and he was sporting several days growth of beard

Napoleon rose from the chair, leaning forward and checking Illya's forehead...he felt warm.

"Hmm, "I'll bet you're hungry."

"To be honest, I am not."

That was not a good sigh as Illya was always hungry...

"Appetite or no, you need to eat something. I'll see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen."

Illya rolled over again, turning his back to the America, bundling himself up in his blanket.

"Napoleon I am cold."

"Yeah, it is chilly in here." Solo stepped over to the small fireplace on the other side of the room, throwing another log in and stirring up in the ashes.

"Not a very good safe house this, no heating system, no bedroom, just a sitting room, a kitchenette and toilet...I'll have to talk to Security about this one. Well at least we have running water." His words fell on deaf ears, as Illya was asleep again.

Napoleon headed into the kitchen, checking the cabinets and finding an array of canned soups and vegetables. The small refrigerator was bare of course...normally when a safehouse was going to be used, the parties involved would bring in supplies, but in this case there was no time.

He found an aluminum pot, emptied the contents of two cans of condensed Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup into it, and added water. He lit a burner on the stove, luckily the pilot light was on, so no matches needed. Setting the flame on low; he turned on the other three burners as well, letting them warm the kitchen for a bit.

There was an unopened box of Ritz crackers and he put those on a small dish and but sniffed one to make sure it wasn't stale...smelled okay. He popped it into his mouth deciding it was fine. Beside the dish he set two plain white bowls. The spoons set out with some paper napkins and by the time he had everything ready, the soup was warmed.

He ladled a bowlful for Illya, carrying it out on a tray, calling to the Russian. Along with the meager meal was a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

"Wake up sleeping beauty, time to eat."

"Mmmm..." Illya responded, not rolling over.

"Come on buddy boy, soup's on."

He put down the tray on the coffee table, and helped Illya to a sitting position, propping him up with a few throw pillows from the sofa.

Kuryakin stared blankly, his blue eyes slightly glazed from his fever.

"Take these," Solo offered the tablets.

"Nyet, no drugs."

"Jesus Illya, it's just aspirin. Take it for your fever please?"

"Fine," the Russian groused, weakly accepting the tablets in his hand and dry swallowing them, not waiting for the water. His hand trembled uncontrollably, but that wasn't from being sick, that was from the T.H.R.U.S.H. truth serum and other drugs still in his system. Illya never reacted well to them.

"So can you feed yourself or do you need some help?"

"Though I do not like to admit that I am weak as a baby, I am afraid I will need your help. Honestly though, I am not really hungry."

It wasn't the first time Solo had to feed his partner, nor did he suspect it would be the last. Illya had done the same for him on manys the occasion as well.

The Russian swallowed only a few mouthfuls before he put his head back against the pillows. 'No more, "he whispered." I really do not feel well...it is still cold in here," he was shivering now.

"Come on tovarisch, eat some more of the soup while it's hot...it'll help warm you."

Illya swallowed a few more mouthfuls before giving up again.

Napoleon shook his head; there was nothing else he could do to make his partner feel better and with that he rose from his chair and threw another log on the fire. Finally Solo retreated to the kitchen to eat his own bowl of soup while Illya laid back down,curling up under the throw blanket.

The American sat at the small dinette, pulling out his communicator."Channel D-Solo."

"Hi Napoleon."

"Hi-ya Shirley. Can you put me through to Security, please?"

"Sure...Mmmm I hope this snow storm isn't going to cancel our date on Saturday.I really looking forward to your kisses and other things." Her voice oozed with anticipation.

Napoleon remained aloof; his concern for his partner's welfare superceding his personal needs.

"We'll see about that when Saturday arrives, now Security Sheila, please?"

There was a moment of silence, until a new voice appeared.

"Section V Mr. Solo. What can we do for you?".

"Look, I don't care if you have to hijack a snowplow to get us out of here. Mr. Kuryakin is sick, he's running a temperature and getting worse and needs medical attention a.s.a.p."

"I'm sorry Mr. Solo but…"

"No ifs ands or buts, I want us out of here and I want it now. Mr. Kuryakin has vital information stuck in his head and we can't risk T.H.R.U.S.H. finding him, and we can't risk losing him or the…"

"Just one moment sir."

Alexander Waverly's voice came over the communicator loud and clear.

"Mr. Solo, I have been apprised of your situation, rest assured we will have a team out to you as fast as humanly possible. I'm sending someone from Medical to see to Mr. Kuryakin's needs. Will that do?"

"Yes sir, and thank you... a couple of winter coats and some blankets would be helpful please? Oh...and coffee?"

"Anything else Mr. Solo?" Waverly asked more gruffly.

"Ah, that'll be it sir."

"Consider it done. You'll be here in no time Mr. Solo rest assured. Waverly out."

Nearly three hours later, headlights shone through the front windows, and Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief. Minutes later there was a knock at the door, and he opened it, ready to greet their rescuers.

What met him was the barrel of a T.H.R.U.S.H. rifle shoved into his chest.

"Hands up Solo!"

Two men in heavy coats and boots muscled their way inside, pulling Napoleon's gun from its holster.

"Watch him Murphy," one barked as he headed toward the sofa.

"Come on Kuryakin, lets go. Get up and put your hands on your head!"

There was no reaction. "Move!" He jabbed the rifle barrel into Illya's side.

"Leave him be," Napoleon said. "He's really sick. If you want him moved, you'll have to carry him."

"No, you'll have to carry him Solo! Move it!"

He shook his head in disgust, picking Illya up off the couch, and cradling his surprisingly light body in his arms.

"Taking him out into the snow could kill him. He's really weak."

"Well that's a chance we'll have to take. Now let's go, make it snappy!"

Napoleon again found a gun shoved into his back, nudging him along out into the raging snowstorm. It was nearly impossible for him to walk towards their van, much less carry the limp form of his partner in his arms. The heavy flakes of snow backlit by the headlights were nearly blinding.

"And what about me?" Solo asked as he lowered Illya into the back.

"You get in too. You're useful enough to carry him for now, but when we've reached our destination, it's the big sleep for you Solo."

As Napoleon straightened up, he grabbed the rifle, pulling it away from the Thrushman and somehow, Illya came to life, diving out through the side door of the blue van at the other agent and tackling him to the ground.

Having taken care of his opponent, Napoleon used the rifle butt, knocking the other man out.

Illya raised himself up on his hands and knees, a last valiant surge of energy before he passed out.

"Come on buddy," Napoleon scooped up the shivering Russian, bringing him back into the house. He threw all the logs that were left into the fireplace, until it was roaring and making the sitting room exceedingly hot. He wrapped Illya up in the blanket, and pulled the drapes from one of the windows, wrapping those around him as well. He headed outside, tying up the agents and throwing them into their own van for safe keeping.

Fifteen minutes later, more headlights appeared, but this time Napoleon's communicator chirped.

"Gibbs from Security here Mr. Solo. Dr. Miller from Medical is with us and we have that snow plow and ambulance you ordered, and one carafe of piping hot coffee. R & D came up with some sort of device that we could hook up to the cigarette lighter and drop a heating coil into it." He appeared at the door with two wool coats and blankets draped over his arm and Dr. Miller was right behind him.

The American grinned…

.

Five hours later Illya Kuryakin lay in his bed in Medical. He was on an IV drip, infusing him with fluids and antibiotics. They'd managed to get his temperature down and he was stable now, resting comfortably. Once he was stronger, he'd be debriefed.

"Napoleon, if we hadn't gotten to him when we did, he could have died," Dr. Miller said. "Hell, he should have been dead already, but the man has a constitution of an ox."

"That is bear," a raspy voice spoke from the bed."Constitution of Russian bear...who is hungry." Illya's blue eyes peeked out mischevously from beneath his blanket.

Napoleon chuckled, "Ah the dead have arisen and hunger is a sure sign Doc that Illya Kuryakin is on the road to recovery."

"All right," said the physician, "a light chicken broth only and some…"

"Yes to soup, nyet to...jello."

"How did you know what I was going to say?" The doctor was taken aback.

"Doctor, you forget how many times I have been here…" Illya's once feverish blue eyes twinkled.

"No green jello. I promise. Scouts honor." Miller laughed.

"Hey, that's my line," Napoleon chuckled."Now listen to the doctor for once tovarisch and no terrorizing the nursing staff."

"Yes mama," Illya snickered with a sing-song tone of voice.

Dr. Green watched the pair with amusement. "Well you're on your Scouts honor too Napoleon; no sneaking him pastrami sandwiches please, and you don't need to be a mother hen, that's the job of the nursing staff."

"I am afraid Dr. Green knows you too well my friend," Illya smiled.

All Napoleon could do was shrug. "Guilty as charged...what can I tell you?"


End file.
